


cleopatra (just to have you around)

by mozartspiano



Series: baby come on [1]
Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Christmas, M/M, Marriage Proposal, snow as a plot device
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-27
Updated: 2019-12-27
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:16:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21983599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mozartspiano/pseuds/mozartspiano
Summary: "The problem," William says, out loud, for God and Kappy to hear, "is that Kyle isn't a white gold kind of man."
Relationships: Kyle Dubas/William Nylander
Series: baby come on [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1589488
Comments: 25
Kudos: 210





	cleopatra (just to have you around)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mrsbarlow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrsbarlow/gifts), [the3ofchalices](https://archiveofourown.org/users/the3ofchalices/gifts).

> a happy happy holidays to g & as & everyone reading this! enjoy this! it's just joy and tenderness and kasperi kapanen one liners, my calling card.
> 
> title from the lumineers _cleopatra_ the kyle dubasiest song to ever kyle dubas.

Everything starts because Kyle gets drunk at the annual Leafs holiday party.

"I've had like two drinks," he says, loudly, in William's ear. "I am not drunk."

"Okay, babe."

"I'm not."

"I said okay, babe."

So Kyle's drunk. He's still in a suit, tugging his tie off as they stumble through the bedroom. The tip of his nose is pink and so are his cheeks and his glasses are a bit wonky on his face. William loves him desperately.

"Did you have fun?"

"I like Christmas," Kyle says. He kisses William, his mouth tasting like red wine and peppermint biscuits and gingerbread. He pulls away with a sigh and says: "S'nice holiday."

"It is a nice holiday."

"I'm going to brush my teeth now."

William wants to have fourteen children with him. "Okay, honey."

They fall into bed eventually. Kyle's a silly drunk, gets his nose up in William's hair and puts his arms around him like an octopus. William's preferred state of being is having all of Kyle's attention, so he doesn't mind so much.

"Handsy."

"I like Christmas," Kyle says, again, in a grumble. His mouth is up against the side of William's face, his eyelashes brushing against the skin of his cheek; he shifts them around so he can watch the way Kyle's mouth makes words in the dark. "I mean all the religious stuff is - you know. The Linus speech or whatever. It's sort of just nostalgic for me, nothing of like - spiritual significance."

"You've lost me."

"But I like the lights," Kyle says. He moves his arm so he can put one of his hands on William's neck, heavy and warm. "And the trees and the snow and the skating."

"Uh huh."

"You in that antler headband tonight."

"Liked that?"

"Mhm," Kyle says and they're kissing again, hot air between them, knees pressed tight under comforters. He has a thing about William's ears, like rubbing them with his thumbs to make William laugh. It always works. "It was festive."

"Your head is going to hurt so much tomorrow."

"It's kind of like," Kyle makes this noise through his nose, a signal that he's about to start ranting. "Secular Christmas is a big commercial mess, right, but there's some merit to it in spite of that kind of contrived nonsense. Like it was - like invented, Will, it was invented by the Hallmark people to sell cards. And Walmart and that fucking Bezos, that jackass, they're - they're ruining the rain forest. You know?"

"Sure."

"Are you listening?"

"Definitely," William says, snuggling further into the pillow and smiling helplessly at the way Kyle keeps blinking, half blind in the dark without his glasses. "Something about Hallmark and the rain forest."

"Anyways." William feels Kyle slump down into the pillows too, his chin over the top of William's head. It's too hot, with the blankets and Kyle's arms, but William wouldn't leave for anything. "I like it."

"I'm glad."

"My grandparents got engaged on Christmas, you know."

William blinks his eyes open. He sees darkness. "Really?"

"Yeah."

"Oh. Huh. That's cool."

"Mmm," Kyle says, as if underwater. "Always thought that was kind of nice. Romantic."

"They were married for a long time, right?" William asks, wide awake now.

"Five or so decades."

"Oh. So like. A Christmas proposal is like maybe like. Good luck. Too. Maybe."

"Mm," and it's mostly asleep. William feels a kiss near his eyebrow. "You looked really cute in those antlers tonight."

Kyle's house is old and creaky and the windows groan when it snows. William holds his breath while Kyle falls asleep, listening to the whispers of the house. It's not that William's been waiting for a sign but. Like. Okay. He's maybe kind of been waiting for a sign. Now, all he needs, is a plan.

**three days before christmas**

"The problem," William says, out loud, for God and Kappy to hear, "Is that Kyle isn't a white gold kind of man."

They're in Tiffany's. William already has Christmas presents for his mom and sister and other sister with the girl behind the counter. Next to him, Kappy is wearing one of those hats with flappy, fluffy ears and track pants.

Kappy yawns through an, "Uh huh."

"He's a classic gold band man, something with a brassy finish. Practically archaic."

"Bad taste."

"Horrible taste!" William says. He wrinkles his nose at the gold bands under the glass. There's one that looks straight up like his grandfather's ring from like the 70's or whatever. "It's like - Kyle a pocket square won't kill you. I would die if I could get that man in a fitted trouser."

"Well," Kappy says, his nose pressed up against the glass. His nostrils makes two little ovals of air condensation. "Clearly you have worse taste, because you want to marry him."

"Of course I want to marry Kyle. Who doesn't want to marry Kyle?"

"Me."

"Well you're dumb," William says. "Kyle's a catch. I am a catch. Do you think I could convince him with sex to go Gucci for the wedding?"

Kappy sighs. He looks sleepy. Probably needs another espresso.

"Ooooooh," William says, as a glitter catches his eye. He slides toward the other side of the store where there is all sorts of periwinkle blue and rose gold and titanium. "Now these. Are. Sexy."

"Willy," Kas says. "I'm going to die. We have been here for twenty minutes at least."

"You asked me what I was doing today."

"I know."

"I told you what I was doing today."

"I know."

"So shut up," William says. "And help me convince myself that Kyle would say yes to me if I proposed with a titanium band with a ring of 18 carat diamonds."

"I like that one best." Kappy says. He points to a horrifying number that looks like a copper crown with more diamonds than William's cutest tennis bracelet. It's as big as a chicken nugget.

"Well, when you and I get married I'll get you that one," he says. Kappy grunts. "But for now we need to get one for Kyle and me. Imagine for a second that you are Kyle, the love of my life, fire of my loins, etc,."

"That'll be tough," Kappy says. "Because I'm a hot jock and not a nerd but I'll try."

William looks out the window. Bloor is mostly brown, the snow having turned to slush pods at every intersection. He doesn't think he ever winterized his Uggs.

"There's always Cartier," William says, ignoring Kappy's sighs.

The thing about Kyle is that he's very practical. Through osmosis William has also become practical. Not that practical, because he still likes buying jackets that cost a lot of money and lying to Kyle when he wrinkles his nose and asks how much they cost, but still more practical than he used to be.

"Can we please get lunch? I'm going to die."

"You're being dramatic."

Being practical and adult and stuff means that they have had this conversation. Kyle gets hives when he talks about his feelings but he likes talking about plans and assets and the socio-economic benefits of marriage. He's got a real talent for turning William's romantic speeches into a discussion about stocks and whether a destination wedding would end up being more cost-effective than trying to book a venue in Toronto in August. If William hears the phrase "utility-maximizing marital union" ever again it'll be too soon.

All that to say is: they have a plan. The plan is set. The plan is not, it must be said, a Christmas proposal.

After seven more minutes, Kappy grumbles and grumbles so they leave, William's family Christmas presents weighing him down in periwinkle bags. They head down Yonge to a Korean barbecue place with all-you-can-eat lunch.

"I don't understand," Kappy says, later, when they've handed off their little piece of paper to a passing waiter. "Why are we looking for engagement rings anyways? Like. There's no rush."

William takes a long sip of water. Kappy blinks at him. William regrets telling Kappy The Plan and takes another long sip. Kappy's still looking at him.

"Because I want to. That's why."

"But I thought the plan was to get engaged next year," Kappy says.

"Well."

"I thought the plan was a late June proposal," Kappy says, sighing up with his mouth so his bad hair ruffles. "And then a year long engagement followed by a late summer destination wedding."

"Maybe destination, maybe not," William mutters. "We haven't gotten that far."

"Buy a house in Forest Hill," Kappy continues, "Wait a year or two until you start looking at adoption sites, eventually adopt 2.5 kids-"

"Okay okay okay okay okay," William says, waving his hands. "Stop. Okay. I talk to you too much. Clearly I need another friend."

Kappy raises his eyebrows, bobbing his head as if to say _yeah_.

The waiter drops off seventeen little bowls of marinated meats and vegetables. Kappy immediately gets the tongs out and drops things onto the little griddle. William watches the pork turn a greyish brown and thinks about Kyle last night, nose all red, being sweet. He thinks about how Kyle and he are both elbows but how they've found a way to fit anyways, their different brands of optimism brushing up against each other.

"Kas?"

Kappy has a lettuce wrap in his mouth. "Yeah?"

"What if we don't find the perfect ring for Kyle?" William asks. He pokes his little barbecued piece of chicken with a chopstick. "What if there isn't a perfect ring? What if we think we find it and I propose and then I find a better one later?"

Watching Kappy chew is like, gnarly, every time. He swallows and says, anticlimactically: "Relax."

"I will do no such thing."

"Just look online tonight and get like, expedited shipping or whatever. Or pick up the ring in a store. There's gotta be something that Kyle would like that won't make you like, think about your grandpa's dick or whatever."

"Fuck you."

"Or you could go to, like, a pawn shop."

William eats a piece of pineapple. "A pawn shop? They have rings?"

"I've seen every episode of _Pawn Stars_ bro," Kappy says, "they have all sorts of shit."

"But, like," William says. He's wrinkles his nose. "I can't go into a pawn shop. Have you seen me? Like I'm not built for that kind of shit. What if I buy Kyle a ring that was like, I don't know, owned by some Mafia dude? Kyle doesn't like organized crime, he told me that once."

"It's all about rebranding. Call it like - antiquing."

"Antiquing?"

"Yeah."

"I like antiquing," William says. He thinks about afternoons, when they lived in New England a million years ago, going to estate sales with his mum. "Ooooooh a nice vintage ring. Maybe something with a story about longevity in marriage."

"Exactly bro."

"Hmmmmm," William says, pulling out his phone, food forgotten. He is nothing if not singleminded with goals. He imagines a little dropdown menu in a video game, a checklist of tasks to accomplish: _Get Advice From Kappy, Go Antiquing for Bomb-Ass Ring, Brainstorm Bomb-Ass Proposal, Ask Kyle To Marry Me, Be Happy 4Ever_. "There's three stores in Yorkville. Should we start there? Are you still eating? Can we go get the ring?"

"Times like these," Kappy says, looking up to the ceiling, "I really want to punch the dude who traded Phil Kessel and landed me here, in this position, with you."

They find it. It's gold, simple like how Kyle would want, with little square engravings along it because they both have a thing for art deco.

William almost cries. Kappy rolls his eyes. One more thing crossed off the list.

"Ahhhh, fuck."

It's later that night, after dinner. The ring is safely tucked away in William's road trip bag. They're curled up in bed, Kyle with one of his forty million paperbacks open over the sheets next to him while William scrolls through Whatsapp for all the group chat messages he's missed. It's nice, a picture perfect domestic bliss kind of postcard, except for how Kyle keeps waving his hands around.

"That was a fucking foul, ref, open your eyes."

William snorts.

"It's about consistency."

"I know, babe."

"I have no problem with certain fouls being called -"

"Yeah, babe."

"-as long as they're going to be consistent about it."

William runs his finger down Kyle's nose. He's got his glasses on, slumped half on the pillows, head propped up enough so he can watch the Raptors game on their television. His eyes keep drooping shut, stubborn. William pets his big nose some more.

"Hey Kyle?"

"Will?"

"We've been together for awhile now, right?"

Kyle's eyes narrow, slowly, suspicious. "Yes…"

"And I -" William wants this to be as painless as possible, and therefore needs to avoid any unnecessary mentions of an L-word. "I mean I said it. The words you say when you're with someone and you want to keep being with them. And you said it back. We've said those words, to each other."

"…sure."

He slides a hand under Kyle's sleeping shirt, rubs where his tummy rises and falls with every breath. "I guess I just wanted to know if you're still in this. For the long haul."

A funny little furrow goes between Kyle's eyebrows, even as he sips from his beside table water glass. "Have I done anything recently that makes it seem like I'm not?"

"No."

"Okay. Well. Then yeah. Of course."

"Good."

Kyle likes romance, mostly. He likes holding hands and lighting candles. He likes watching movies with William that make them both tear up. He likes romance in the abstract, sure. But when all of William's attention goes on him and it's like, Kyle's turn to say things honestly about how he feels with no jokes, he gets a bit blushy and weird and prattles on. It's a good thing William likes him so much to do the emotional heavy-lifting.

"Why are you asking me, Will?"

William shrugs, looks at the shift of Kyle's shirt as his hand moves back and forth over skin. "No reason. Just curious, that's all."

"Has anything changed for you?"

"Nope," William says, shaking his head.

"Okay."

"Okay."

"Good."

William presses a kiss to the plane of Kyle's nose, the little triangle near his eye where his glasses rest. He gets kissed back, Kyle's cinnamon toothpaste familiar when his tongue licks into William's mouth, his fingers warm against the column of William's throat.

There's a little cluster of hair on Kyle's jaw that he must have missed while shaving this morning. William pets at it and says, "What time does our flight leave on Christmas Eve?"

"Four-thirty," Kyle says, eyes shifting back to the screen. "Should be eating turkey at my grandmother's by seven."

"Do you really think she'll like the sweater I got her?"

"I think she'll like it half as much as the jersey Kappy signed for her." Kyle takes a big slurp of his water. "She liked your present last year. The weird - handkerchief thing. That silk wispy thing."

"It's Parisian," William grumbles. "You need a crash course on fashion. I'm so embarrassed that you don't own a single turtleneck. What are our kids going to think, huh? That only one of their fathers is capable of dressing themselves?"

"You're literally wearing a cropped, purple crushed velvet tracksuit," Kyle says. "Right now. You're wearing that right now."

"It's from ASOS!"

"Jesus Christ," Kyle sighs, but he's grinning, like he doesn't get these parts of William but he likes them. Likes that he doesn't get them. He tugs William in closer, arm around his upper back, says, "My grandmother loves you. She'll like anything you give her. She'll try and feed you half the house."

"I'm so excited for her shortbread."

"When you can barely skate against Jersey, don't tell Keefer it was my fault, alright?"

"Never," William says, grinning. "Never ever never."

**two days before christmas**

So William has the ring but he doesn't have a proposal and that's a capital P Problem. He brings it up when the boys go out for an early brunch before the game.

"So," he says, grandly, like a father at a wedding, "I'm going to ask Kyle to marry me on Christmas Day."

Zach squints at him over the bread basket. "I thought you guys had planned to have the proposal in late June."

"I -" William starts. He stops. There might be some merit in not broadcasting every single thing that happens to him to his circle of friends. "No. There's been a change of plans."

"Christmas Day is pretty soon, bud," Auston says, like he's the only one who owns a calendar.

"I know that."

"That's great Willy," Mitch says. He's sipping on a milkshake. "You and Kyle are awesome together."

"Except on trivia night," Hollsy says. "You're the fucking worst on trivia night."

"Or during beer pong."

"Or Monopoly."

"Fuck all of you," William says. So Kyle and he are notoriously, obnoxiously competitive to the point where people actively disallow them from playing board games at parties? So fucking what.

"Congrats though, bro, seriously," Mitch continues. He picks at one of his fries, drenches the thing through this ketchup-mayonnaise concoction on the rim of his plate. "Got a ring yet?"

"I'm glad you asked Mitchell," William says, pulling out his phone. He puts it on slideshow mode, so they can all see the ring. The only one who oohs-and-awws is Mitch, which is why he wins Friend of William's Year Award for the third year in a row.

"What about a proposal?" Zach asks, when the slideshow is over. "Do you know how you're going to pop the question?"

"Well here's the thing," he says, through his turkey club. "Kappy was fairly useless."

"Literally fuck you," Kappy says, through his turkey club. "Fuck you in the dick."

"The proposal needs to be like - " William says, ignoring him, "-like, it needs to be sexy? But also classy? But still sexy."

Mitch's eyes go wide while he says: "Flash mob."

"No."

"But-"

"No."

Mitch grumbles and eats his chicken fingers. Next to him Auston is looking out the window, mindless, not paying attention. William suffers, constantly.

"Hm," Hollsy says, because he is a helpful soul. "Did you ask his parents? Like for permission or whatever?"

"No," Zach says, looking up from his linguini, "you don't have to do that."

Mitch's eyebrows meet in the middle like a caterpillar. "I thought you had to do that? You don't have to do that?"

"It's sexist," Zach says.

"I feel like I should mention that Kyle is a man," Kappy says.

"It reflects a patriarchal society," Zach says.

They all take that in.

"And that's…bad? Your tone suggests it's bad."

"Yes, Mitch, it's bad."

"Huh," William says. "Well. I won't talk to them then. Or his grandma. I don't want to reflect a patri- patri-thing society."

"Patriarchal."

"I'm ESL, Zach, I have trouble with English words."

"What about a jumbo tron," Auston says, tuning back in. "S'fun."

"S'sexy," Kappy says.

"Tacky," William says, because he has taste. "Also Kyle would kill me if I proposed in public. He would die, first, and then kill me. He's hates when it's his birthday at Montana's and they put a moose hat on him and everyone sings."

Which is like. Crazy. The best part about going to Montana's is deep fried pickles and getting Happy Birthday sung at you by everyone while wearing a moose hat. It's a good thing Kyle is weird and kind and sexy enough for William to marry him, despite these obvious shortcomings.

"Even, if you're at like a super small French restaurant or something?"

"Public proposals put unwanted pressure on the proposal-ee to say yes," William says because Kyle told him that one time. "What if Kyle says yes just because we're in public but then later says no to me because I embarrassed him horribly? I would probably die."

"And then Kyle would die, yeah," Mitch says. "Not ideal."

"I need real ideas. Real solid ideas, folks."

"I proposed in front of family," Zach says, twirling his pasta around his fork, "because we had all talked about it before, and I wanted it to be special. What about you Hollsy?"

"On vacation on a beach."

"Ooooh that's sexy," Mitch says, "You should propose to Kyle on a beach, Willy."

"We're going to be in Sault Ste. Marie on Christmas," William says. He pouts. "There aren't any beaches in Sault Ste. Marie. Well, there's one. But it's only open in the summer and it kind of smells like rotting fish a little and Kyle got his Gameboy stolen there when he was a kid so he doesn't like it that much."

Kappy coughs and it sounds suspiciously like the word "nerd."

"Maybe you could propose at the spot where you guys had your first date!" Mitch says, "Like on Christmas Eve before your flight! That's basically Christmas Day. And that'll be like special and stuff."

William screws up his face unintentionally, "We went to an ice cream place."

Mitch looks out the window. Everyone else does too. It's snowing. "Oh."

"Also I think it closed down. It's a dentist office now."

"It kind of seems like the universe doesn't want you to get engaged," Hollsy says, kindly.

"Fuck the universe!"

"Whatever you do is going to be great, Willy," Zach says. Across the table, Auston steals one of Mitch's fries and Mitch makes mean mugging faces at him. "It'll be a special moment no matter what. There's no such thing as a perfect proposal. As long as it's about you and Kyle, it'll be great."

"Thanks Zach. That means a lot."

"Oooooooooh wait wait wait," Mitch says. "What about a sky writer! But like a tasteful one."

William drops his head on the table. He gets Italian dressing in his hair.

"Were you guys trying to give everyone a heart attack?"

"Happy side effect."

"Uh huh."

It's after the game, the big weird blowout-comeback. William's ears are still ringing, an hour on, from Mitch's shouts in the locker room. They don't usually hang around Kyle's office, mostly because it's cold and there's all sorts of things that distract Kyle from putting his hands all up in William's business, but Kyle wants to re-watch the game before they go home, with his tablet and tablet pen thing so he can take notes on the Google Drive that he shares with the other nerds on the team.

"Are you sure you're okay with waiting around?" Kyle asks, again, for the like millionth time. "You can take the car and I'll cab back."

William lifts his head from where he's been resting it in Kyle's lap to say, "Shut up, dummy, we've been over this like eight times."

Kyle snorts.

The couch in Kyle's office isn't that comfy and neither is Kyle's lap but it's nice all the same. The city looks beautiful from here, all cold air and wispy snow. William lolls his head back and forth to get comfy before Kyle's hands are gentling him. With his fingers he traces little circles over William's temples, until his eyes go tired and closed.

"The kids were cute today," Kyle says, quiet, making conversation while he loads up the game. "Keefer said the girl they had to play him at the bench was really funny. And there was a baby near me who was dressed in so much blue he looked like a big old blueberry on his dad's shoulders."

William giggles, imagining the blueberry baby. "Like in Willy Wonka."

"Exactly."

Kyle's fingers feel nice. William keeps his eyes closed, snuggles deeper into the soft fabric of the old jeans that Kyle keeps in his office. He doesn't think he'll sleep, not really. Just nice being close.

"It'll be nice, one day," William says, light. "You know. When we have kids."

"Kid."

William opens his eyes, grins. "You're still on this, huh?"

"I just think," Kyle says, in his diplomatic voice, "that we'll have our hands full with one. Everyone I did my undergrad with is basically a zombie now, Will. I see them once a year and every year they seem to have another kid. One kid is manageable."

"Well that's a nice point," William says. "But I want five. So."

"We're not having five."

"Five beautiful little babies," William grins, "five perfect little angels."

"You know, I talked to your mother over the summer," Kyle says, his fingers still dragging through William's hair, "and she says you guys were not perfect angels. She said that it was very stressful."

"We were beautiful and graceful and talented." He turns his head into Kyle's shirt and his soft, warm belly. "One baby would get lonely! You can't have a lonely baby, Kyle, then they grow up to be like serial killers and like - weirdos. We can't let our baby be a weirdo."

"If the first one is really chill," Kyle says, "then maybe we could consider having a discussion about thinking about another."

"Two babies? Might as well have five if you're already having two."

"Five babies is too many," Kyle says, in his General-Manager-of-the-Toronto-Maple-Leafs voice, "it's impractical. All the vacation packages are for families of four."

"We made do."

"You grew up rich, Will."

"So will our kids," William points out and Kyle rolls his eyes because he has trouble accepting that he's the 1% now. "What if we have two and they don't like each other? That would be bad."

"William."

"I'll drop down to four even. One for each of our arms."

Kyle puts his hand over William's mouth, firm. It smooshes William's giggles, forcing a honk through his nose. The steps in this conversation are well worn, silly and funny to mask the fact that they're both kind of scared they'll fuck up being parents, that they won't have enough time for one baby let alone five.

William gets Kyle's wrist in his hand, pulls. "I'll wear you down."

"Will you?"

"Mhm." He moves his face further, shuffles his whole body so he's curled up over Kyle, away from the windows and the light on Kyle's desk. Everywhere smells like him, like home, and William moves until his face is mostly obscured by shirt. "I'm very persuasive."

"Goodnight, love."

"God natt," William says, feeling himself slip. Kyle's hand slides around his back.

"Don't drool on me," he says, and then, soft, "I'll wake you up when I'm done."

**one day before christmas**

It's snowing through breakfast. William hooks his ankles around Kyle's ankle while he drinks coffee piled high with whipped cream, turned in his chair so he can watch Kyle chomp through the oatmeal he's started eating every morning since he turned thirty-four.

"You don't have to eat it, if you don't like it."

"I like oatmeal," Kyle says, through his oatmeal. "I like it just fine."

William woke up early so he could Facetime his family, his alarm blaring from the bedside table. Kyle's skin tasted sour with sweat when William wiggled out of his arms; their room was cold but smelled like the night before, lazy, post-game, pre-Tomorrow-Night-We'll-Be-At-My-Grandmother's-And-We-Can't-Have-Sex-At-My-Grandmother's sex.

The fam was good: happy and stressed, packing, headed to Chicago to check on Alex. Definitely picked up on the fact that William hadn't gotten around to showering yet and looked, well, like he'd spent the night rolling around with a Kyle and fell asleep kissing him.

"What are you looking at?"

"Hm?" William blinks a few times. Kyle is looking at him, spoon halfway to his mouth, filled with his weird steel cut oats that he buys in bulk from the Costco in Etobicoke. "Nothing. What?"

"You're staring at me, bud."

"I like staring at you," William says, "I like you."

Kyle looks away, all pleased. Him and his terrible oatmeal. William can't stand him, not at all, puts his face in Kyle's shoulder and bites at his shirt until it goes wet under his mouth.

They take a walk as the snow piles up in the driveway, in the windowpanes, turning the whole neighbourhood into a snow globe. William's grandmother mails him mittens every year and Kyle's been added to the registry, so their hands are toasty as they head to the park near them.

"Should have grabbed the skates," Kyle says, peering through the thick curtains of snow. They're both contact boys today and Kyle's eyelashes are sticky with snow. "Would be nice to get a bit of exercise before the flight."

"It's my day off."

"It'd be fun."

"My day off, Kyle!"

There are kids sledding with those swishy roll-up sleds on the hill in the park, dogs jumping through the snow. It easy to forget where they are, that just a few blocks south is the hustle and bustle of people; William grabs Kyle's elbow to navigate around some slush on the sidewalk and then keeps holding on, because he wants to.

"I love winter."

"Me too." William rubs his face in Kyle's puffy jacket sleeve, damp against his cheek. "We're going to catch our deaths."

"Probably."

Everything is so lovely and romantic and it would be, perhaps, the most perfectest place to propose in the whole world, this quiet snowsphere with Kyle and no one else but then, well. Fucking Kappy.

William ignores the first three calls.

"Why are you calling me," he says, eventually, loud down the line. Next to him on the sidewalk, Kyle laughs.

"I figured it out," Kappy says back. "The proposal. I got it."

"I would rather not discuss this here," William says. Kyle looks at him, weird, so William says: "I don't want to hear about your sex life."

"What?" Kappy says.

"What?" Kyle mouths.

"Is Kyle there? Is this a code thing? Are you doing a code thing?"

"I don't care how hot she is," William says, loud, "Leave me alone. Go away."

"Willy, babe," Kappy says, "Listen for like five seconds, okay? I figured out the big proposal -" he makes drumming noises with his big dumb fish mouth and "-a hot air balloon. A fucking hot air balloon."

William blinks. "Are you drunk."

"No," Kappy says and then, "I've had like. Three drinks. Shut up. It's Christmas. But it doesn't matter because I've figured it out. You wait until June, okay, like you planned, and then you get a hot air balloon. And then when you're up over like, the mountains or some shit, you get down on one knee-"

William hangs up on him.

"What was that about?"

"Oh ha ha," William says. "You know Kas. Just - girl stuff."

"Wanna head back in?" Kyle's nose is the colour of raspberry jam and his hair is wet against his forehead. "I want a shower before we get to the airport."

William feels his perfect proposal slip away. "Oh. Are you sure? We could take another turn around the park? Or I could grab my skates?"

"Will," Kyle says, wry, tugging on his hand. "Come on. Can't miss the flight, my grandmother will be pissed."

"Well," Kyle says, two hours later, "Fuck."

The flight is. Well.

"There's nothing we can do," William says, rubbing his hand along the upper bit of Kyle's arm. "We just have to wait until the plane gets um. Un-cancelled."

Kyle has talked to every member of his family. Kyle has talked to half of the staff at Air Canada. Kyle, looking at William with a _don't you dare_ glare, has even dropped their names a few times. William has mostly just made faces back and watched him, pressing his socked toes to the grids of their gas fireplace.

"I know."

"At least we're warm," William says, snuggling his face against Kyle's side like a horse until he gets the memo, throws an arm around his shoulders. "And safe and we have frozen pizza in the freezer."

Kyle kisses him. Just quick, their noses pressed together only briefly, before he tucks their faces in close together and watches the fire. There's a calmness to being around Kyle, something William's never really felt before. He settles back against his solid body and breathes, filling, this gentle sense of warmth over him.

They get up, eventually. The pizza is thin crust, great circles of plasticy mozzarella over pesto sauce, and it takes about a dozen minutes to bake. William tugs Kyle upstairs to eat, into their bed and its mountain of pillows, with a bottle of red from the wine fridge. He sits practically in Kyle's lap, back against his front, between his legs. It's nice and then it's really nice, when Kyle has finished scarfing down his pizza and he wraps his arms around William from behind.

"You're warm."

"So are you."

"Sorry the flight was delayed," William says. Kyle puts his chin on William's shoulder, kisses William's ear. "Not that it was my fault. I can't control the weather but. Sorry anyhow."

Kyle shrugs, bringing William along with him. "This is an okay substitute."

William thinks about the little box where his art deco gold Kyle engagement ring is sitting and how it's only just in their walk-in and how easy it would be, now, to pop over and ask him. Here, in bed, just the two of them and the snow.

"You know," William says, sneaky, turning his face so he can meet Kyle's eyes. "In my family, we always open our Christmas presents on Christmas Eve. It's tradition."

"Your present is packed," Kyle says. He punctuates it by dropping a kiss on William's cheek.

"It's a really important tradition," he says. "Like. A religious one. Or something. It's very important to me as a person."

"All the way in the bottom of my bag. Impossible to get to."

"But, babe, come on-"

"Besides," Kyle says. One of his arms slinks off William's shoulders, slides down and then back up, under William's sleep shirt. "I can think of something more fun than unwrapping presents."

"Oh." Well. There's always time after the sex. "I mean. I guess I could be persuaded."

"You guess?"

Kyle's hand disappears under the blanket tower William dumped over top of them. A second later William feels it dip into his pyjama pants.

"I mean," he breathes, harsh. Sex first. Then he can get onto the engagement business. "If you insist."

**christmas day**

William wakes to Kyle's ringtone. The air is cold and their alarm clock reads _5:03_. William pops his head back under the covers, content to sink back into his sex coma.

"Okay," Kyle's saying, his voice not betraying the fact that he was passed out and spooning William forty-five seconds ago. Some superpower that comes from being a GM or being a full-fledged adult or being Kyle, maybe. "Thank you. Sounds good."

"Kyle," William says. His mouth tastes like wine and Kyle's dick and sleep. He would like to die, please, or go back to bed for one million years. "Please don't tell me that was Air Canada."

"We have eighteen minutes," Kyle says, hoarse, sounding like himself again. "I call first shower."

The drive to the airport isn't busy. It's barely light out, the sun just peeking through heavy grey clouds as they head down a nearly empty 401. William snuggles in the passenger, head against the cool glass of the window. Kyle keeps rubbing sleep out of his eyes.

"That second bottle of wine was a mistake," he says, when they're merging onto the exit for Pearson.

"Hmm."

"My eyes feel like they've been glued together," Kyle says, blinking one eye open and closed at a time, "like the Boogey Monster has gotten to them. Do you have the Boogey Monster in Sweden?"

"I don't know."

William bites his lip. The ring is in his pocket. The ring has been in his pocket since he bolted out of bed during Kyle's shower and remembered that he was a dumbo idiot moron last night, too sex drunk and normal drunk to propose to his boyfriend. He fingers at the little box now, velvet along his nail.

"If there's no parking I'll fucking kill someone."

Should he do it on the plane? A quiet, quick thing while the flight attendant is walking by serving drinks, impersonal and shitty and forgettable? When they get off then? While they're swarmed by every Dubas in the province and their big goofy Dubas smiles and their kind Dubas hugs? How about after, when it's just the two of them? Should William tug Kyle outside for a romantic look under the stars, risk them both to fucking hypothermia just so he can finally put a ring on it?

Maybe Kappy is right. A hot air balloon in June, so if Kyle says no William can parachute away and live in the mountains alone forever.

His lips go gummy and chapped as Kyle grumbles his way into a parking spot.

"And they make them so small of course," Kyle says, "heaven forbid someone have a car bigger than a thumbtack."

There won't be any time alone. There won't be any time, period, and then they'll be back in Toronto and William will still have his ring.

"Alright." Kyle turns off the car, slides his keys into his pocket and starts patting them. "Got my wallet, passport, keys, perfect. Got my bag. You have your bag. Hopefully the Timmies won't have too long a line or I might actually collapse at one of those check-in kiosks-"

"Kyle."

He looks up, eyes blinking sleepy and so brown behind his glasses. "Yeah?"

William opens his mouth to say something and - nothing.

"Come on," Kyle says, after a second, "We'll be there soon enough. We have an hour until the flight boards so we should have enough time to pick you up a sandwich. I can't imagine security will take too long at this time. Still dark out."

"I don't want a sandwich."

"Alright," he says. "Then don't get a sandwich. Are you okay?"

"I -" William doesn't know where to look. He doesn't want to kneel on the mat under his seat because his boots have made a little slush puddle there, but the thought of dragging Kyle outside into the parking garage to kneel there is incomprehensible. "I'm sorry. In advance."

"In advance?" His brow is all burrowed. "What are you talking about, Will?"

He almost fumbles it out of his pocket. Opens the little hinge so Kyle can see the ring and watches as his eyes go wide behind his glasses. There's no noise, just the two of them and the car windows fogging up and the sound of planes taking off.

"Will you marry me?" William asks, quiet, and then: "Please?"

Kyle doesn't do any of the things William's seen in movies: the hand over the mouth or the head shaking. He just looks at the ring for a second more and nods, slow, before he meets William's eye and grins.

"Yes," he says and William lets out all the air he was holding in.

"Ohthankgod," he says in one and then they're kissing. Both of Kyle's hands come up to William's face, either side, as he presses kisses to William's mouth, sweet and wet and giddy, silly kisses, kisses on his nose and his smile. William can't stop laughing, happy.

They pull away and Kyle puts the ring on. It looks weird on his finger, huge and important and small and everyday, something to wear down and grow into. William closes the box, empty now, and tosses it onto the dashboard.

"The parking lot?" Kyle says, shaking his head, moving back in. He kisses William's bottom lip. "Really?"

"I said sorry."

"You sweet thing," Kyle mutters, into William's nose. His thumbs rub over his ears and William giggles, of course. He wonders if this kind of happiness can stay in his memory or if it'll be hard to think about, like looking into the sun, this joy.

"Did you know?" Kyle asks, then, quiet.

"Did I know what?"

"That I was going to ask," Kyle says, smile still bright on his face, cheeks warm. "I have a ring, Will, for you."

William blinks twice. "What?"

"Yeah."

"But we said June!" William says, putting his hands over Kyle's hands on the side of his face. "After a Cup run and the draft, before the summer becomes too hectic! We planned it."

Kyle shrugs.

William doesn't know if he's stopped smiling but he feels himself smile more. "When were you going to?"

"New Year's Day. Thought it would be a good way to start the year."

"Where?"

"The outdoor rink near my house." Of course. Of course he had a plan.

"Kyle Dubas," William says. He means to say more but he can't because emotions, and then he really can't because Kyle's kissing him again, his mouth and the point of William's nose and over both eyelids.

If this was a movie there would be music playing, something with swelling violins and a great big drum, monumental and special. As it is, there's their breaths, pulled apart and together in the air between their mouths, and the soft shift of Kyle's fingers through his hair.

They almost miss their flight. They run through Pearson together, hands tied between them, Kyle's ring cool against William's fingers. He wouldn't trade it for the world.

**Author's Note:**

> i can be found, wailing about willy on the regular, [here](https://statsmcbitch.tumblr.com/).


End file.
